


my love, can we

by Carmailo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Minor Character Death, adam doesn't die but someone else does, adashi, keith has therapy, klance, lots of profanity, more to be added as more is revealed!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-07 15:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15911076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmailo/pseuds/Carmailo
Summary: After a three year leave to Japan with his comatose brother, Keith returns to America with his head held high and morals set. He's ready to restart his life a fourth time when he's met with faces from the past, and unspoken animosity seems to well up more than it ever did before. Keith is left to grapple with the aftermath of events he should have been present for, and the bitterness that he knows he deserves for his absence. It's all he can do to acknowledge that everyone's moved on in one way or another, and that the ache of the past is beyond his reach.It's all he can hope for that he can fix things.---Disclaimer: I'm not good at summaries





	1. Chapter 1

“Pidge isn’t home yet, but she’ll be here soon,” Hunk kicks off his shoes before disappearing from the foyer. “Just make yourself at home, living room’s thataways.” a hand emerges from the doorway on the right to point to the one on the left.

“Thanks,” Keith calls, his voice carrying through Hunk’s and Pidge’s townhouse. Idly, Keith wonders how they managed to afford the place - he’s sure the Holt family’s thrown in some money. Their home is large and nicely put-together, tucked into a nice neighbourhood full of identical townhomes, differing only in paintjobs.

“Not a problem. You staying for dinner?” pots clang as they’re placed on the counter, ringing against countertops that Keith assumes are either granite or marble.

He starts at the sudden invitation, blanking. “Oh, no- I don’t wanna impose-” he tries to protest, but Hunk cuts him off easily.

“Keith, it’s fine. We haven’t seen you in _forever_. If you’re not busy, just hang around.” Hunk’s head comes into view as he says this, smile ever-present as he insists.

Keith still feels inclined to refuse - this isn’t his place, after all, not anymore - but finds himself unable to negate Hunk’s logic. Besides, a home-cooked meal from Hunk beats whatever packaged ramen disaster Shiro would’ve cooked up. Not to say that they were even fair in comparison. Hunk made meals that were right on par with Keith’s foster mother. Better, even, sometimes.

“Well, if it’s _really_ okay…” Keith wanders into the living room, taking in the space. It’s carpeted, a nicely toned beige that feels soft beneath his socked toes. A coffee table and L-shaped couch take up most of the floorspace, somehow managing balance between cramped and comfortable. Some blankets are cast to the side of the sofa, cushions thrown half-heartedly at intervals across the seats. Off to the side, a standing piano sits nonchalantly, the stool pulled out and music sheets scattered across the rack. The fall is opened, as though someone had been playing before leaving and forgetting to shut the instrument. A pen sits on the top of the piano, a piece of staff paper sitting below it, crossed out notes all over the bars.

_Cozy,_ Keith thinks, _lived-in._

It’s not at all like what Keith and Shiro have right now, a small duplex apartment that Keith is staying in until he - hopefully soon - gets the key to his own place.

The apartment is full of boxes and meant to be minimalist as per Shiro’s taste, a single square sofa facing a television with it’s back to the kitchenette. It’s still brand-new, and neither brother has taken to working by themselves in the quiet of the apartment to empty the cardboard fed-ex boxes that litter the floor quite yet. Shiro had been much more interested in crashing on his bed as soon as he’d crossed the threshold - regardless of the fact that his sheets are still packed away. Though Keith’s one to talk - he’d fallen face-first on the couch and laid there, staring at the wall for nearly two hours before getting up and leaving the apartment.

“Dude, it’s one-hundred percent okay.” Hunk says, pausing in the doorway on his way up the stairs. “Now. I’m gonna put my stuff away, and then I’ll be back down to cook dinner. Remote is on the table, watch whatever, we have everything - don’t ask questions about how because I’m not entirely sure myself. Something to do with possibly illegal streaming, courtesy of Pidge. If you get hungry, just take something from the pantry that doesn’t have a sticky note with anyone’s name on it, and save room for dinner. Bathroom’s to the left as soon as you leave the living room.”

Keith smiles as Hunk disappears from view, up the stairs to his bedroom. He’s missed his friends, and seeing the gentle giant first is helping soothe his nerves about seeing them again. Hunk’s presence is, as it always was, reassuring and calm.

Pidge will be easy to deal with - Keith’s known the short tech-genius since they were young, a fortunate by-product of their older brothers being close friends - the less fortunate results including being used as test subjects for most ideas the two came up with, which were, at best, somewhat dangerous. The two of them could go months without seeing one another and pick up where they had left off. Though… three years is much longer than three months.

And Lance… well, that’s a hurdle Keith’ll jump when he reaches it, no matter how much worry it causes him now.

Turning back to the piano, Keith picks up the first sheet he can reach. The piece looks easy enough, so Keith scans it over, mulling each note over in his head. Contrary to stereotypical expectations, Keith is not proficient in piano, but instead rather mediocre at best, only able to play a few songs learned by choice, and terrible at sight-reading.

Glancing at the stool, Keith sits down, reading over the notes scrawled across the paper once more. Carefully, his eyes scan the bars, his mind supplying the notes where he can remember them. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, Keith puts the sheet on the music rack and his fingers on what he thinks are the correct keys. He takes a deep breath, completely ready to make a fool of himself, and plays the first chord.

It sounds horrible. Keith double checks, only to find he’s correct - or that he’s lost so much of his “ability” that he can’t even read three measly notes correctly. Frowning, Keith tries the next bar, but finds it also sounds off. He sighs, already frustrated, and pulls the piece off the rack - his lack of patience had been a huge factor in him dropping the instrument. Keith puts the paper back where he found it, and deduces that Pidge has probably written it and memorized random cues in her head, because last time he checked, Hunk didn’t know how to play the piano and was a big fan of playing by ear when he played his trombone in their band class. His ear had been so sharp that he’d somehow manage to play Keith’s part, adapting the flute’s melody to his own instrument.

Keith recalls sitting in the front row of his class, a flute clutched in his hands. Lance had teased him at first, but stopped after Keith whacked him with his flute. The flute had broken and Lance had been badly bruised for a month after. It was a mistake on both their parts, and Keith had insisted on buying Lance his favourite coffee from Altea Café every day until the bruise had faded completely.

Lance himself had started with playing the tuba under the impression that bigger was better - it was why he had teased Keith in the first place. He’d given up on it within a week and had switched to saxophone for the sole purpose of playing _Careless Whisper_ at any given moment. He’d been able to play it ridiculously well and had even gotten Pidge to play the drum part, as she was in percussion - she had chosen the section mostly because their teacher rarely cared about what the percussion section did during class, so long as they could play their parts when asked. Pidge was incredibly gifted - as she tends to conveniently be - at playing her part correctly even when seeing the notes for the first time.

The sound of a key in the lock startles Keith out of his thoughts, and his gaze shifts to the door’s general direction, despite the fact that he can’t see it from the living room.

“Hunk, you will not _believe_ what I saw today - which is why I have photographic evidence!” keys are tossed and the door gets slammed shut, shoes hit the floor and the lock clicks back into place.

Keith stiffens at the voice. He was really hoping to see Pidge next.

“Upstairs, Lance! Be down in a minute!” Hunk calls back. Keith hears Hunk move across the upper floor, saying something about laundry.

“‘Kay,” Lance calls back, his feet shuffling across the floor before he’s flinging himself over the back of the couch, landing across it comfortably, as if he’s done it a millions times before.

Which, Keith thinks, he probably has.

Keith gapes at Lance, having spun around on the stool to face him. He remains speechless as Lance reaches forward, sleeve sliding up to reveal several colorful friendship bracelets, to grab the remote. He flicks on the T.V. before shooting a quick glance in Keith’s direction, finally noticing him. “Yo,” he greets, casual, but then does a double take.

His jaw falls open, surprise falling across his features. “Keith,” Lance blinks, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. His fingers bump into the snapback he seems to have forgotten he’s wearing - backwards, no less.

“Uh.” Keith replies, feeling his face warm at his underwhelming response.

“You’re…” Lance looks Keith up and down quickly, not appraising so much as trying to believe that Keith really _is_ there. “Here,” he finishes.

“Uh- yeah.” Keith reaches up to rub at his neck nervously.

“Bud- oh, hey, you found Keith.” Hunk steps into the room, coming to greet Lance.

“Yeah, I did.” Lance says, smiling uncomfortably as he looks up at Hunk. Keith thinks the expression looks more like a grimace.

“What’re we watching?” Hunk asking, flopping down next to Lance, who shifts so he’s sitting up to make room.

“I… Uh… I don’t know…?” Lance trails off, still distraught as his gaze hangs off Keith.

The two discuss what channel to watch, and Keith stares them, feeling as though he’s in a state of semi-shock.

Running into Hunk on his first day back is a single ordeal. And with Pidge as his roommate, it’s inevitable that Keith’ll see her, too. But Lance? That’s not something he’s prepared for, no matter how much they he tells himself they’re friends, no matter how many pep-talks Shiro gives him, no matter how many times he thinks it’ll be fine. Because it’s here, and it’s happening, and Keith is finding that it’s not fine.

Seeing Lance after all this time is doing funny things to his heart, and hearing that voice, coloured with surprise that isn’t pleasant like it would have been years ago, but just… plain _surprise,_ reminds him of so many things, reminds him of the memories they’d shared, reminds him of that bruise on Lance’s ribcage, reminds him of Lance pitching in to cover the expense of a new flute because they both felt terrible and knew they’d both been wrong, reminds him of so many things that he and Lance had been through, just the two of them.

“‘Scuse me,” Keith mumbles, getting up from the stool. His leaving doesn’t go unnoticed, Hunk piping up before Keith gets far.

“Bathroom?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Keith nods. He continues on his way, but as soon as he’s rounded the corner, he hears Lance indignantly whisper-yell, “you can warn a guy, you know!”

And while he really feels like eavesdropping, Keith can practically feel Shiro’s disapproving eyes on his back. So instead, he keeps on his way to the bathroom, taking in the framed photos in the walls. Several are of family that Keith has met on occasion, but many are their own faces, Lance and Hunk and Pidge. There’s one of the three of them at Disneyland, taking the trip that the four of them had jokingly-but-not-quite-jokingly decided they were going to take after graduation. Keith had left before graduation, and thus had his place on the trip revoked. It still hurt to see the looks on his friends’ faces, smiling at whoever had taken the photo. He feels himself wishing he’d thought it through better, all those years ago.

Shaking his head as if clearing his mind, Keith keeps walking until he finds himself in the bathroom, staring at his reflection. He regards his face, the dark bags under his eyes from the long flight and resulting jet lag, the same eyes he’s looked at his entire life, the same poorly-taken-care-of-yet-somehow-clear skin that Lance had once constantly nagged Keith to fix. The hair that he’d neglected cutting for the last few months, curling around his neck in the way he thinks fits him better than the short cut he’d maintained while in Japan. He has the same bangs from highschool, and, when he really thinks about it, almost the exact same hairstyle, too, only longer now, he supposes. And perhaps there’s a slightly more apparent part.

The staring seems to morph Keith’s reflection, into the same one from three years ago, the same childish curve to his chin and the same constant frown.

Pressing his eyes firmly shut, Keith shakes his head. He turns on the tap, waits until it’s as cold as it seems to get, and then presses a handful to his face. His head feels a little bit clearer from the sudden change in temperature, and he grabs the towel hanging neatly to to his left to wipe his face dry.

His reflection is back to the one he’s used to seeing everyday, the eyes that aren’t as innocently wide as they used to be, the mouth that’s no longer pressed into a frown, but rather relaxed into a gentle downwards slope, the chin that poorly imitates his biological father’s, rounded but sharper than before he left for Japan.

Keith sighs again, a hand running through his hair.

He flicks off the light and leaves the bathroom, retracing his way down the hallway back to the living room. His eyes catch on the photos he didn’t seen on his way to the bathroom, ones of a younger Pidge and Matt dressed up as a Jedi and his Padawan for Halloween, one of Hunk and Lance as children, dirt smeared across their faces and gaps in their teeth as they grin at the camera. Keith’s eyes wander farther down the photos, and he sees some from high school, nostalgia plucking at his heart. Keith had always been extremely averse to photos, but he catches a flash of his sleeve in one picture, a few locks of his hair in another, the edge of his thumb in one of Pidge sleeping. He smiles at the memory, smiles at giggling like no tomorrow as he tried to sneak close enough to get a good shot. At the very end of the photos, though, is one of him, taken when his guard was down, laughing at something out of frame. Keith looks at the photo for a minute, seeing his arm reaching forward toward Lance, whose hand and wrist is barely visible, Keith’s own laughing profile, the brick wall of their high school in the background. His smile fades and he steps away. It’s a happy memory - it really is! - but looking at it now, Keith feels melancholy twist in the pit of his stomach.

The front door chooses to swing open at that exact moment, revealing Pidge in all her, admittedly short, glory. “Guess who bought cake!” she exclaims. Keith’s head snaps in her direction, and his eyes widen in surprise. 

Less than a second later though, she sees Keith, and her features light up. “Keith!” she exclaims, kicking off her shoes as fast as her legs will allow, putting the cake down with as much care as she can manage in half a second.

Then she’s barreling into Keith, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Pidge,” Keith says, bringing his arms around Pidge’s shoulders.

Pidge steps back, practically buzzing with excitement, and Keith can’t remember the last time he saw her smile this wide.

“Three years, douchebag.” she says, punching his arm lightly, but she’s still smiling, so Keith takes it as a good sign.

“Yeah. I’m really sorry about that.” sheepishly, Keith’s hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck again.

“And you got taller!” Pidge exclaims jokingly, poking at Keith’s abdomen, at the muscle that’s replaced the squishiness of his adolescent stomach.

“Uh, I guess.” Keith replies, twisting away from any more of Pidge’s attacks.

Pidge laughs, wrapping her arms around Keith again.

“Wow, the gremlin can laugh.” Lance says dryly, leaning against the living room door frame.

“Shut up,” Pidge replies easily, raising her middle finger at Lance.

“Nice to see you’re nicer,” Keith raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Ha,” Pidge replies, headed back to the door to grab the cake. She shuts the door with her hip, leaving the lock for Hunk, who gives a half-assed protest but still turns it into place.

Hunk follows Pidge into the kitchen, leaving Keith and Lance to their own devices. Keith’s eyes wander after only a second, unable to even look in Lance’s general direction.

“So,” Lance starts. Keith’s eyes snap up to meet Lance’s intense gaze. His blue eyes, roiling with an emotion Keith can’t name, seem almost judgemental, and he feels his face warm under the scrutiny.

“So…”

Keith crosses his arms, as though protecting himself from Lance. Or maybe holding himself together. He doesn’t know. 

“It’s been a while.” Lance finishes.

Keith feels his gaze slip away from Lance’s face. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” If regret squeezes his lungs and scratches at his heart, Keith pretends not to notice. 

He can't help it. This Lance is so different from the Lance he remembers. He’s _quiet,_ seemingly so much more mature that he’d been before. And physically, Lance has lost his rights to being nicknamed beanpole. He’s still thin, sure, but Keith can tell his frame is more filled out than before, no longer scarily slim. And his face has come into its own, too. His chin, which at first Keith had teased Lance about being too long, is now properly at home on his face, his eyes somehow bluer and more analyzing. But his hair is yet to change, still a short mess that manages to suit Lance. Keith hopes that Lance is still as bubbly and excitable as before, only now acting more reserved out of buried anger directed toward Keith. Lance has always been the most steadfast, always the same in the best of ways. If he’s changed because of Keith… Well, Keith isn’t so sure he can take that.

Lance regards him a moment longer before turning away completely, going to the kitchen where the rest of his friends converse. Keith follows, trying not to show how the cold treatment throws him off. He’s honestly feeling shaken, anxieties that he’d pushed the back of his mind without addressing coming up now, in the moment, where it's too late to reassure himself.

“Lance, you staying for dinner?” Pidge asks, holding three plates in one hand, the other ready to grab a fourth. 

“I dunno…” he trails off, reaching up to scratch just above his cheekbone. It's a habit that he picked up in ninth grade, and it makes Keith happy to see it hasn't changed. He feels a little less on edge. 

“Yeah, stay, the four of us can catch up!” Hunk says, beaming. Lance fixes him with a look that Hunk returns, the two of them having an invisible conversation before Lance sighs, defeated, “ _fine._ ”

Keith feels his lips curl into a frown. Even after months of anger counselling, a practice which Shiro had suggested and then forced Keith into upon recommendation of his therapist, Lance is still able to take the tiniest flame of general distaste in Keith’s chest and make it blow into a full-blown fire of fury that consumes his being. “If you don’t want me here, I can go.” he says, barely-concealed anger bubbling in his tone, “it’s not a problem.”

“No, no, Keith, stay.” Pidge answers, shooting Lance a glare, “we want you here, really.”

Keith brings his gaze to Pidge, features softening, but still pressed in distaste. “If you’re all okay with it.”

“Yeah, we’re all _pumped._ ” Hunk replies, leveling Lance another look.

A moment passes, and then Lance turns ever so slightly, revealing part of his profile to Keith. “Yeah,” he says, defeated, “stay.”

“Good,” Hunk says, “now. Help me with dinner.”

◌ ◍ ◌

Keith stares at the spread of food before him. It’s nothing short of amazing, as per Hunk’s style. Even the things Keith screwed up, like chopping the carrots evenly, has been made to look beautiful. So Keith tells him so.

“Thanks, buddy. Couldn’t have done it without you guys, though.” Hunk beams, and Keith can’t help but smile back.

A moment later finds them passing around dishes and piling food onto their plates. They laugh, and even though Lance is still mad at Keith, and Keith feels the tension tenfold, they still smile with little restraint and listen to each other’s stories. Keith’s missed his friends, missed their voices and expressions. He’s willing to overlook his past with Lance for now, because, in this moment, he finds himself content to be caught up in the easy camaraderie of four friends again.

“Yeah, Nyma said she heard that, too.” Lance agrees, pulling Keith back to the present. He doesn’t know who Nyma is, but doesn’t ask - he’s missed a lot, that much is clear. He’ll catch up as he needs.

“Ooh, but can she get us in, however, is the real question.” Pidge replies, pausing in bringing her fork to her lips.

“I’ll ask,” Lance says, a bit uncertainly, “but no promises.”

“Oh- Keith. We’re talking about the club that just opened up. Nyma has connections and she apparently might be able to get us on the invite list.”

Keith looks up at Pidge, surprised to be invited along. It’s not that he doesn’t feel them all clicking back into place, but he feels as though he needs to pass a test of some sorts to be allowed to slot back into their lives so cleanly again. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Pidge nods, chewing, “how long have you been here for?”

“I got in at, like, four this morning.”

“Woah, dude. Aren’t you tired? Isn’t the flight, like… _long?_ ”

“I guess?” Keith shrugs, “couldn’t sleep, and Shiro was asleep when I checked, so I got bored and left.”

“Did you sleep on the plane, at least?” Hunk asks.

“Not really. I can never fall asleep on them.” Keith says.

“Dude, that’s not healthy,” Hunk gestures in Keith’s direction with his fork, and then turns thoughtful. The prongs of his fork come to his lips, “but if Shiro’s here, _with_ you…”

Pidge finishes the thought, “does that mean you’re staying?” she seems to be holding herself back from bouncing.

“Shiro got a job here, and I got into uni, so.” Keith pushes the food on his plate around, suddenly timid, “yeah.”

“Hell yeah!” Pidge says, “that means you’re stuck here for _at least_ a year.”

“You’re right. Looks like another year stuck with you, tiny.” Keith smirks.

He thinks he hears Lance snort quietly, but Pidge is reaching across the table to punch Keith’s shoulder. “Shut up,” she laughs.

And it’s good, so Keith laughs, too.

Maybe he _will_ go to that club with Pidge. Maybe he’ll start hanging around his old friends again. Maybe he’ll fix things with Lance, and they can start over - as friends or otherwise.

“Which university?” Hunk asks, eyes still bright with laughter.

“Arus U-”

“ _Dude!_ ” Pidge exclaims, “us, too!”

“Now you’re just screwing with me,” Keith disagrees.

“No, _you_ are. Actually?” Pidge asks, sitting up properly.

“Yeah,” Keith smiles.

Maybe things’ll be like old times. And it’s a nice thought, so Keith doesn’t push it away. He’ll let himself hope for the future.

Before long, though, dinner comes to a close, and Keith can only linger so long when he has a few unanswered texts from Shiro blinking on his phone’s lock screen, asking where he is and if he could please come home now because it’s getting late and Shiro doesn’t want to spend his first night back in America alone.

Also he doesn’t want his brother to get kidnapped.

“Stay for a drink?” Hunk suggests, piling the plates Keith passes him into the sink.

“I’d love to, but Shiro’s wondering where I am, and I haven’t answered him for half an hour. I’m edging into disapproving dad-glare zone.” Hunk laughs, and Keith continues, “Besides, you’ve already done so much-”

“Keith, look. We’re all still brothers, man. Even Pidge.” Keith cracks a smile at that. “What happened happened. Can’t be helped. I know Lance is being sort of difficult, but you gotta give him time. He took everything the hardest.”

“Which is more than reasonable,” Keith replies. “None of that was fair.”

“You couldn’t really help it. But,” Hunk holds up a finger, “just ‘cause you’ve been gone, doesn’t mean you don’t belong. We understand why you left, okay?” Keith nods, “and we don’t blame you.”

Keith is at a loss for words, so he nods tightly again.

“Basically, what I mean is, you still fit here. There’s still room.” Hunk puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Don’t think you can’t hang out with us, or study with us, or eat lunch with us. We’re best friends, going to the same school. That warrants spending almost every waking hour with one another. You got that?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Hunk.” Keith smiles, and Hunk slings his arm around his shoulders before leading him back out to the foyer.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m gonna grab my keys, and I’ll drive you back-”

Keith ducks out of Hunk’s grip, putting up his hands in protest. “No, no, no. I’ll call Shiro and get him to drive me.”

“But what about your car? Besides, Shiro’s tired, let the poor guy rest.”

“My bike’s still back in Japan- I walked to the store. And Shiro’s got all night to sleep-”

“Dude, come on, let me do this.”

“You’ve already done so much, Hunk.”

“I can drive you,” Lance interrupts.

Hunk smiles approvingly, but Keith turns to gape at Lance, who’s already standing with his keys in hand, shoes on his feet. At the two sets of eyes, he reaches up to rub that spot on his cheekbone, warm color bleeding into his face.

“What?” he asks, though he knows perfectly well _what._

“I can just get Shiro,” Keith tries again, smiling nervously.

“Whereabouts did you say you lived, again?” Lance asks, swinging his keys around a finger.

Keith relays his address, watching as Lance nods, “yeah. It’s on the way to my place.”

“You sure?” Hunk asks, “no killing each other, right?”

The blatant address of their quarrel throws Keith off a bit, but Lance rolls his eyes at Hunk. “Yeah, man. I still need to find a place to dump the body, anyways. You live today, Keith.” Lance’s eyes don’t quite meet Keith’s face with the comment, and he turns away before Keith can say anything more.

“‘Night, guys. Thanks for the dinner. Compliments to the chef - you have beautiful eyes.” Lance winks at Hunk as he hugs him with one arm.

“‘Night, loser.” Pidge says, thumping Lance’s back on her way to hug Keith. “Let’s meet up again sometime this week, Keith. Don’t fall out of touch again.”

“Yeah,” Keith nods, hugging Pidge back. He notices her being more affectionate from missing him, though he doesn’t complain - Pidge hugs are rare, and if he’s getting them without anything going wrong, then he’ll take them.

“Yeah. Swing by whenever. One of us is usually hanging around.” Hunk squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“Will do.” Keith nods, tugging his shoes on. This, he decides, has been a very fine night.

“C’mon, Keith.” Lance urges, waving as he steps from the house.

“Coming,” Keith replies, bidding Hunk and Pidge one more goodnight before following.

He stops, however, when he sees a sparkling chrysler, obviously having been waxed by Lance’s own hands - Lance had always been meticulous as to making small repairs and enhancements by himself.

“Aw man, what happened to the Subaru?” Keith jokes, reminiscent of a time where Lance’s car, lovingly dubbed _Lancita,_ had been the group’s only means of transportation without a parental unit.

_The backseat where Keith dropped his phone, cracking the screen but not caring enough to notice because he had Lance-_

“Crushed. Poor baby couldn’t keep making the trip home, and repairs were just costing too much.” Lance shakes his head, remorseful. After a second though, he continues sliding into the car.

Keith follows suit, shaking away his memories and buckling up before asking his next question. “How’d you manage to afford this?”

“Got her for a steal,” Lance puts his hand on the back of Keith’s seat as he pulls out, “she’s lightly used, but runs like new.”

“It’s nice,” Keith says, admiring the car. His foster father had driven something similar for a while, though it had been an older model.

“And what about you? Finally got that bike?” Lance turns back to face forward and shifts the car into drive. Keith admires the rumble of the engine, so willing and capable of going faster.

“Yeah,” Keith nods, “just wait ‘til you see it.”

“Can’t wait.” Lance says, though it’s clearly out of politeness rather than of actual excitement.

And there’s no further talk of the bike. No addressing what Keith had told Lance when they were kids, no speaking of the paint jobs Lance had said he liked best, pouring over magazines with Keith on quiet Sunday afternoons in the library. They don’t talk about any of it, because Keith doesn’t know where he stands, and Lance has yet to tell him.

But thinking about his bike brings excitement to Keith’s chest. A pride that reminds him of the hours he’d put in into tuning it up _just right,_ the time spent saving all his money, and then, the ride he’d dubbed the bike’s debut.

He’d driven the bike all the way from Karatsu to Tokyo. All fourteen hours. He was too wired on adrenaline to sleep, and the only stops he made were for gas. He’d driven straight up to the front of the institute Shiro was working at and waited for him to be dismissed for the day. And then, he’d taken Shiro on a ride, going just fast enough to make his brother scared for his life, but not enough that he became concerned for Keith’s safety and forced a million different safety rules on him.

Keith smiles at the memory of Shiro’s disheveled hair, the white locks that were normally carefully separated from the black ones swept all over his head. He wants to laugh now, but one sideways glance at Lance is all it takes to smother the laughter with a cough.

Lance, who Keith hasn’t seen in years. Lance, who’s so different yet so much the same. Lance, with the face that’s always bright with happiness. Lance, who had once told Keith his smiles are sometimes forced - his happiness a front for everything else.

The silence between them feels heavy to Keith, urging him to break it. The drive is at least ten more minutes, and he already knows he won’t be able to stand those ten minutes in awkward silence. The thought helps him muster up the courage to speak, and, after a few inconspicuous deep breaths, he does, delving straight to the point.

“Lance, we need to talk.”

Lance flicks on his blinker, glancing at the road to his left before making the turn. “Not right now.”

“Lance-”

“Keith, listen. We need to talk, we do. I’m not denying that.” Lance’s fingers come up in a wave to thank another driver. “But not now. You just got back. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about what I want to say, so… just not now, okay?”

Keith swallows over the lump of anxiety in his throat, considering his answer. He wants to push, he really does, but…

“Okay,” he concedes.

They lapse back into silence then, both unsure of what to say next.

After a few minutes, though, Lance clears his throat. “So. How’ve you been? ” his voice turns conversational, and it’s so familiar that Keith can almost pretend he’s back in highschool again.

“I’ve been pretty okay. You?”

“Honestly? Things have been pretty great lately.” Lance drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Keith stares at the movement, at Lance’s hands. At the fingernails he’d painted once in eighth grade and gotten bullied for. The way he can’t stand to be in the cosmetics aisle of their local drugstore without his sister to carry the basket and pay for him.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, tearing his eyes from Lance’s hands.

“Mhm.” A smile comes to Lance’s lips, though Keith can tell he’s trying not to let it show.

“You look dopey,” Keith says without thinking. He wants to retract it a minute later, because this isn’t how they are now. He doesn’t have the right to make jokes like that anymore.

_We aren’t in highschool anymore._

“Do I?” Lance hums, still fighting a smile.

“What, you got a girlfriend or something?” Keith can’t help but crack a little smile. They’re falling back into old habits, joking with each other until one admits what the first is trying to pry from them.

“Yeah,” Lance says, finally letting himself smile.

“Oh,” Keith says, trying to feign nonchalance. The smile is gone and he’s sure he misses by a mile, but neither acknowledges the lilt to Keith’s voice, the way he sounds surprised in a down-played way. “What’s she like?”

“Her name’s Nyma, and… she’s pretty great. She’s really sweet. I think she’d like you.” Lance smiles a little wider as he thinks about his girlfriend, but Keith feels himself frown.

_”His name’s Keith, and he’s-”_

It’s probably very unfair to hurt, considering everything, but Keith can’t help himself. Instead, he shoves his inner turmoil deep down, falling back on old habits that his therapist worked tirelessly with him to break. He’ll likely spill his guts to Shiro later, though. Keith can already feel a buildup of things he wants to tell Shiro about today, and this added news makes him want to say all the good things as soon as possible, just so that there’s still room for his negative feelings without everything blowing up inside of him.

“Oh, yeah? You’ll have to introduce us sometime.” Keith says, and he’s rather proud of the fact that his voice is now free of disappointment, instead filled with faux-interest.

“Yeah, for sure. And... how about Shiro?” Lance asks. Keith is satisfied to realize that he knows Lance well enough to notice that the other boy is trying to avoid silence.

Some things never change.

“Shiro’s been good. Took some adjusting with his arm and everything… but. He’s been pretty okay, I think.” Keith thinks about the first few months after Shiro woke from his coma. The new arm that was the complete wrong colour and worked so differently from regular prosthetics, the scar that runs across the bridge of Shiro’s nose, the shock of white hair that falls across his forehead.

The way he didn’t sleep at first because he was constantly in pain. The way he wouldn’t open the blinds and kept the lights off, door always shut unless his mother was there, whispering softly to him. The bed that was never made because the only time it wasn’t in use was when Shiro was in the bathroom or he was having an anxiety attack.

“Man, he’s probably been beating himself up about it pretty badly.” Lance sighs.

_You have no idea._

“Yeah. He puts too much pressure on himself sometimes.” Keith fights his own sigh.

“But good for him, moving back out here. And you, too. Anyways, is this you?” Lance asks, leaning forward to catch a look at the tall structure before them.

“Yeah, thanks for the ride.” Keith says, pushing open his door as Lance rolls to a stop.

“Not a problem.” Lance smiles tightly, squeezing the steering wheel once.

Keith steps out. Then, leaning back down to stick his head in the car, “you wanna...” he pauses, half wanting to abort. But he figures he’s already committed at this point and continues. “You wanna come up?”

Lance blinks at Keith, whose face starts heating up. “Not like that! I mean to see Shiro!”

Lance laughs, actually _laughs,_ and Keith buries his face in a hand. “Sure, Keith, I’ll come up to see Shiro.”

A few minutes later, Keith is sliding a key into the door of Shiro’s apartment. “Shiro, I’m home.”

Shiro, in all his sweatpant-and-wife-beater glory, is squatting next to a box, digging through it. He starts speaking in Japanese, raising his voice when his sifting gets too loud. “No, seriously, Keith. Where’s my- Oh! Hey, Lance!” Shiro straightens his back at the sight of Lance before standing completely and coming to meet them at the door.

“Shiro! Long time no see!” Lance replies, sticking out his hand for a shake. Shiro returns by taking the hand and tugging Lance forward for a hug. Lance is grinning when he pulls back, Shiro’s prosthetic patting his shoulder.

“Yeah. Life got a bit hectic, there.” Shiro smiles that million dollar smile, the same one that Lance once extensively argued changed people’s sexualities to the preference of men.

“It did. But it’s good to see you’re back in town.” Lance says sincerely, and Keith can already see that stupid smile spreading on Lance’s face, the one that he makes when he gets attention from whoever he’s trying to get it from at that moment.

Keith wonders why Lance has always regarded Shiro so highly. Perhaps it’s just that he’s older? Or maybe it’s just his “eyeliner game”. _And maybe it’s Maybelline,_ Keith adds sarcastically.

“Good to be back. Keep in touch, yeah? It’s really nice to see you again.” Shiro adds.

“Yeah, for sure. You too, Keith.” Lance gives a small smile to both of them. “I gotta get home - it’s already pretty late. I’ll see you soon. Let’s catch up sometime!”

“Yeah, of course,” Shiro agrees with a grin, embracing Lance again before letting him back into the hallway.

“Thanks for the ride,” Keith tacks on, “‘night.”

“Good night!” and with that, Lance disappears from sight. Keith locks the door before following Shiro into the apartment.

“So,” Shiro starts, already smirking suggestively.

“Shut _up_.” Keith deflects, fixing his brother with a glare. He kicks off his shoes forcefully, watching them bounce on the floor.

“Make me,” Shiro says, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Shiro, actually. This isn’t funny.” Keith whines, his jacket tugged off and hung up on the coat rack.

“I know, I know.” Shiro says, but he’s still smiling a little.

Keith must look extremely distraught, however, because, a moment later, Shiro’s amusement drops and is replaced with genuine concern.

“Hey, what happened?”

Keith sighs, shoving his hands into his armpits. He huffs.

“He’s over it,” Keith shrugs, arms flailing out with more force than strictly necessary.

“Keith…” Shiro’s hand comes to rest on Keith’s shoulder, empathy in his words.

“He’s got a girlfriend.”

Shiro’s frown deepens. “It sucks, I know.” gently, Shiro starts guiding Keith toward the kitchenette. “But what you two had… It wasn’t healthy, Keith, you know that.”

“You always say that.” Keith slides onto one of Shiro’s stools, propping his arms on the counter and his chin in his hand. “We were getting better. We would’ve worked out.” Keith’s brow furrows and he shifts his body, arms crossed on the counter and face pressed into the cool material.

“I guess I thought… I guess I thought that we would be able to fix things and try again now.”

A muffled groan from Keith has Shiro’s hand coming down on his back comfortingly.

“I know.” he says again, sighing. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Keith.” 

Keith stays silent. Maybe if he’s quiet enough he can just sink into the cushions.

“ _Keith,_ ” Shiro repeats, insistent. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Keith grumbles.

Shiro raises an eyebrow at Keith, who lies on the couch with his face pressed into a pillow.

“Good for you. Now talk to me.”

“No.”

Shiro starts tapping his foot, the sole of it slapping against the hardwood with surprising volume.

Keith lets out a loud groan of distaste, and Shiro’s eyebrows come down as he deadpans. “Up,” he demands, and nudges Keith’s hand, hanging off the edge of the couch, with his foot.

“Can we not do this today?” Keith whines, lifting his head the slightest bit to peer at Shiro. He regrets it a second later, though, when sunlight hits him square in the face.

“Let me think,” Shiro puts his hands on the blanket, “no.”

In one swift motion, Shiro tugs the blanket off, much to Keith’s distress. He curls up tightly against the sofa backrest, attempting to retain some of his dwindling heat.

“No. Up. I made breakfast.” Shiro folds the blanket over his arm before half-turning away. “Your favourite,” he says, softer, reaching out to push Keith’s hair out of his face. Keith wrinkles his nose but doesn’t push Shiro away. It’s weird to be petted like a child, but Keith knows that Shiro is just concerned. So he’ll let his older brother get away with it, just this once. Besides, he’s always been a mother hen by nature, and Keith more or less his disgruntled chick.

“Five more minutes?” Keith grunts, still unwilling to move from his spot.

“Only if you want cold food.” Shiro replies, already in the kitchenette.

The smell hits Keith, then. Bacon, the scent thick in the apartment, and chocolate. “Did you-” Keith sits up, suddenly wide-awake.

“Maybe,” Shiro replies, sly as he shoots Keith a sidelong smile.

Keith practically trips over himself to get to the kitchen, seating himself at the island right as Shiro turns around with a plate, piled with chocolate chip waffles. Bacon sizzles in the pan behind him, the scent making Keith water at the mouth. A plate is already set out with cutlery for him, another set across from him for Shiro.

The meal is one that Shiro refers to as “childish,” but Keith doesn’t care how old he is. Chocolate chip waffles are an ageless delicacy in his eyes.

Shiro brings the plate to the counter but stops a few inches away, earning a pained cry of protest from Keith.

“I’m giving you these when you promise to talk to me.” he smiles innocently, turning back around to move the bacon from the pan onto its own plate.

“That’s just mean,” Keith protests, hunching his shoulders as his arms come to cross in front of his chest.

“Whatever do you mean, Keith?” Shiro asks, setting both plates down next to himself.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Shiro brings a waffle onto his plate. Maintaining eye contact with Keith, he takes his sweet time cutting a piece and bringing it to his lips.

“ _Man,_ ” Shiro says, giving a contented sigh, “I’m a good cook.”

“Fuck you, Shirogane.” Keith replies, flashing Shiro his middle finger.

“Language, Mr. Kogane,” Shiro shakes his head slowly, “and here I was, thinking you were raised better than that.”

“Shiro…” Keith whines. He would like to think he comes across as warning, but he couldn’t care less if he sounds like a child. He’s _hungry,_ dammit, and Shiro really _did_ make his favourite.

Whining is his last resort, but he’s desperate for those waffles. 

“Just promise to talk, brother.” Shiro says, cutting up another piece. He brings it to his mouth, “and the torture will end.”

Keith reiterates, “fuck you, Takashit.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you agreeing.” Shiro leans forward, cupping a hand around his ear.

“Fine,” Keith mutters, trying not to pout. He’ll succumb if it means waffles.

“What’s that, little brother?” Shiro asks, the smug smile sliding back onto his face.

“I said, _fine._ ” Keith repeats, louder now.

“Fine what?” Shiro asks, cocking his head and blinking innocently.

“ _Fine,_ ” Keith says, already reaching for the waffles, “I’ll talk.”

“My, what a weak resolve.” Shiro shakes his head, though his smile has become more relieved than anything.

“I’m a man on the edge, Shirogane.” Keith places both plates between him and Shiro. “Want me to talk or not?” Keith threatens, stabbing his fork into the top of the pile and bringing two waffles onto his plate at once.

“Yes,” Shiro nods, “whenever you’re ready.”

“Right now?” Keith sputters, pausing in pouring syrup over his waffles.

“Careful,” Shiro says, eyes flicking down to the syrup bottle.

Keith catches sight of the mess he’s making and fumbles to get the bottle upright again before the syrup fills his plate.

“Don’t distract me,” he accuses. Then, “right now?”

“Well, sooner’s better than later, isn’t it?” Shiro asks.

“I guess,” Keith grumbles into his plate, shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth.

Shiro’s quiet then, waiting for Keith to start. But Keith is stubborn, and so he waits instead for Shiro to start the conversation. Shiro, however, seems content to simply chew his food thoughtfully, and let Keith begin. As a result, their meal becomes a silent competition to see who cracks first.

But Shiro, the ever loving brother who wants Keith to talk things out, cuts the silence. “So-” and then the words are pouring out of Keith’s mouth.

“It’s just. He’s got someone new. What’s there to say?” Keith shrugs, “it just. I have nothing to say.”

“Excuse me being a cliché counsellor, but how does that make you feel?” Shiro, to his credit, seems to cringe a little bit at the question.

“Just ‘cause my counsellor said to ask me questions like that doesn’t mean you have to, you know,” Keith gestures idly with his fork, but answers the question anyways. “But it makes me feel like shit. If I’m being honest. Like. Replaceable? Which isn’t fair considering… everything, but still,” Keith puts down his fork. “I dunno,” he finishes.

Shiro is thoughtful, considering this. “It’s perfectly fair to have those feelings, okay, so get rid of that stigma,” Shiro waves his hand dismissively. His prosthetic arm remains at his side, under the table. “But,” and now Shiro stabs a piece of his waffle before pointing at Keith with it, “you need to respect his life.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean,_ ” Shiro says, “that you can be sad and hurt and all those things, but you can’t stop what Lance chooses. It’s his life. It’s the same as when you guys broke it off. You made a decision, and carried it out.” Shiro pauses thoughtfully. “While he was hurt, Lance didn’t really stop you. Right?”

“More or less.” Keith grumbles.

The two fall silent. Shiro, ever the wiser, waits for Keith to inevitably crack again and spill the roots of his problem. 

After a moment, he does, “I just don’t understand. I hurt him more than he ever hurt me and he managed to get over everything.” Keith sighs heavily.

“Well,” Shiro begins, putting down his fork, “Lance had his friends to fall back on. He had you to be mad at, and he didn’t have to see you at all for a long time. It was probably pretty easy to just cut you out of his life and pretend nothing ever happened between you two. You, however,” and now Shiro picks up his fork again and jabs in the air toward Keith, “only had yourself to be upset with, and you didn’t have anyone to fall back on. You,” Shiro reaches across the space between them with his fork and steals some of Keith’s waffle, “shut everyone out. And you were focussed on relearning Japanese and seeing all our distant relatives again. And, of course, the breakdown-”

Keith looks up sharply, “we don’t talk about the breakdown.”

“Keith,” Shiro tries, but Keith holds up his hand. 

“We don’t talk about the breakdown, we don’t mention the breakdown. We don’t even _think_ about the breakdown.” Keith glares at Shiro, but the expression is tainted with a poorly-concealed anxiety.

“Alright, fine. I’m sorry. But it’s in the past, and it’s not coming back, okay?” Shiro, in his kindness, likely won’t bring up the breakdown again, a fact for which Keith is grateful.

“It’s okay. I just… don’t like thinking about that stuff. That was a… difficult time.” Keith crosses his arms.

Shiro hums in agreement, continuing, “point is, you had to go through a lot before you even had the chance to consider your emotions, let alone process them. Your friends were all back here, and I couldn’t exactly help you through everything, being comatose and all.” 

Shiro rolls his neck before pushing his plate away and reaching for his coffee. Absently, Keith tries not to show his repulsion. A piping hot cup of coffee in August is not a concept he understands. Maybe it comes with age.

The two share a few moments in quiet, lost in their musings as sounds from the outside world filter into the kitchen.

“Keith,” Shiro says suddenly, eyes trained on the window to his left, “I’m sorry.”

A beat passes before Keith is replying, trying not to purse his lips. “Shiro, it’s not your fault.”

“If I hadn’t gotten into that accident-”

“Shiro, _stop._ ” Keith protests. “It’s not. Your. Fault.”

“Keith, you didn’t have to move, but you did. For _me_.” Shiro finally turns to look at Keith, brow pinched. 

“And I’d do it again. You’re the closest thing to family I have. And your parents needed to be close to you. You’re more their family that I am yours, and I would never refuse them after everything they’ve done for me. I don’t care about the repercussions on my life. I don’t care about how screwed up everything got. I hate that I hurt people, but that’s not your fault, either. I could’ve done everything I did without causing so much hurt to the people around me. So the mistakes I made are on me.” Keith leans back in his seat. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats.

Shiro is quiet for a long time before he says, “I was always going to heal, Keith. And even if I didn’t, it’s not like I was doing anything while in that coma.” Keith opens his mouth to interrupt, but Shiro fixes him with a look. “It’d make no difference whether I lived or died.”

“Don’t say that,” Keith says, voice small. Shiro presses on. 

“Hell, I was practically already dead, anyways. But Lance…” Shiro shakes his head. “Lance and you were good together. We both know you guys were getting better, and you lost that, because of me.”

“Shiro,” Keith starts, trying to mask the sudden wobble in his voice, “I couldn’t put either of you over the other. I still can’t. But I had to prioritize. Lance is better off without me, anyways. He’s _happy_ now. And Lance wasn’t two seconds from being declared brain dead.”

Shiro is silent, but he reaches across the table to plant a hand firmly on Keith’s shoulder. “Thank you.” Shiro squeezes once, and then his hand moves away, and he stands from the table, taking his mug with him as he goes to stand in front of the window, sunlight slanting across his face. 

Keith can’t help but notice how the lighting makes the scar across Shiro’s nose stand out.

“I’m gonna go get dressed. Wanna go for a walk?”

Walking helps Shiro clear his mind. He feel self-conscious when he’s by himself though, so Keith likes to tag along to give him some silent company.

Shiro nods imperceptibly after a minute. 

When he gets like this, Keith knows Shiro needs to be calmed.

So, yeah. A walk sounds nice.

◌ ◍ ◌

“He’s got muscles, now,” Keith continues, “no more beanpole.”

Shiro laughs, “at least you’ve got standards?” he smiles.

Keith smiles back, glad Shiro’s coming back to himself. “Sure.”

They’re rounding a corner when a dog goes shooting past, an owner shoving past and yelling out an apology.

With a start, Keith realizes the owner is Lance.

“Lance, what the fuck?!” Keith yells, always one for eloquence.

“Oh, hey broganes!” Lance yells, still sprinting off, “dog chase, no time to talk!”

Keith’s mouth falls open, having forgotten about the whole _broganes_ thing, the name born from Lance complaining that saying “Shiro and Keith” took too long. The suggestion _Sheith_ had been first, but Pidge had brought up that it sounded like a ship name that way. Lance had yelled “they’re _bros!_ ” for a full hour before Hunk came up with “broganes”.

“Shiro!” Pidge yells, slamming into Shiro.

“You guys, too?” Keith asks, just as Shiro bursts out laughing, squeezing Pidge.

Hunk is there, too, then, and crushing both Shiro and Pidge into an embrace.

The group is too busy to notice Keith’s confusion, but it isn’t long before Hunk is explaining and Pidge has grabbed both Shiro and Keith by the hands, tugging them and breaking into a sprint after Lance.

“Lance is babysitting his niece’s dog, who is supposedly tame off-leash. Not true!” Hunk says, “took off the second we let him loose!”

“We’ve been chasing him for four or five blocks, now!” Pidge interjects, letting go of the broganes and pumping her legs harder.

Keith sputters, at a loss. He shakes his head, not really that surprised. This is exactly the sort of thing this friend group gets into. He’s forgotten, and the fact reminds him of the three years between himself and his friends.

He waits only a second longer before going at full speed to catch up to Lance. “Hey, Keith,” Lance says, “uh, dog on the loose. Apestoso, come back!”

“Apestoso?” Keith huffs in response.

“The _dog._ ” Lance says.

“Right.” Keith nods, picking up the pace again. He’s gonna get this dog, and he’s sort of hoping to impress Lance by doing it on his own. Lance keeps up, no problem, and Keith remembers.

Keith had actually forgotten that Lance is a swimmer. That he tries to run two miles daily - does he still? Or has he upped it to three? More?

“Shit!” Lance curses, having no trouble keeping up with Keith’s sprint - maybe even pulling forward a little bit.

“What?” Keith asks, “what’s wrong?”

“Apestoso is headed into that café!” Lance points, and Keith follows the slender slope of his finger to Apestoso, cocking his head at his pursuers before rushing into the open door of a café.

Keith panics, too, pushing himself faster. Lance keeps up, and it isn’t long before the two of them are slamming into the café, watching as the pug slams into a chair, a couple already having been knocked down behind him. Lance scoops Apestoso up before he can do any more harm, sighing. “Jesus Christ, Apestoso. _¡No estás siendo bueno!_ ”

Keith blinks, huffing.

“ _Eres un mal perro. ¡Mal digo!_ ”

To his credit, Apestoso whimpers, seemingly aware of the ruckus he’s caused.

“What is going on out here?”

“Shit,” Keith murmurs, looking over to a tall woman who emerges from a backroom, bringing a hand up to her silver curls and looking between Lance and Keith, her mouth agape.

He glances over at Lance, the two of them clearly considering bolting. And they probably would, too, if it wasn’t for Pidge barrelling in and slamming directly into Keith’s back, sending him lurching forward and into a table, taking it to the ground. He lands sprawled on top of it, groaning.

Pidge gasps, and then steps away, pursing her lips in an attempt to come across as innocent.

And then Hunk’s in the doorway, asking if they’ve got the dog yet. And Shiro, a step behind, barely having broken a sweat and still looking perfect while the rest of them look like they’ve just been in a tornado. Except for the café lady. She’s also beautiful.

“Well?” Café Lady prompts, a hand coming onto her hip and her foot tapping.

“My niece’s dog may have gotten loose and run into your café,” Lance starts, gesturing to Apestoso for emphasis.

Café Lady opens her mouth about to say something else, but Apestoso whines, and then proceeds to crap right on the café floor.

“Lance,” Keith starts slowly, still on his back on the floor, “did your dog just take a shit?”

“He’s my niece’s,” Lance says weakly in defense.

“You know what?” Café Lady says, “I’ve been needing employees, anyways.”

“What?” Pidge says, “I don’t know these two.”

Café Lady smiles, though it’s stretched thin. “Make up for it with a hundred hours, each, I suppose,” she suggests casually, “and I won’t find some way to press charges on you lot.”

“Name’s Lance,” Lance grumbles, “I’m sorry my niece’s dog shit on your floor.”

“So am I,” Café Lady says, “I’m Allura. Have fun disinfecting that a minimum of four times, Lance. The rest of you, please fix my café.”

Allura turns away and presses into the backroom, disbelieving and somewhat frazzled.

“Get rid of that fucking dog,” Pidge hisses, murderous.

Lance is already on it, though, his phone to his ear. “Nyma, sweetie, can you come pick up Apestoso?”

FInally, a hand is offered to Keith, Pidge apologizing as she helps him up.

“You know this is partly your fault, right?” Keith reminds.

“Sh,” Pidge says, “technicalities.”

Shiro is the first to take action, lifting up tables and chairs, setting them up like he thinks they should be. “You guys have to be more careful,” he chides, but continues rearranging the tables.

Hunk follows suit, lifting the chair nearest him.

Lance marches up to Keith and PIdge, holding out Apestoso. “One of you take him,” he says, “I have a duty as the world’s best tio.”

“Uh,” Keith says, taking Apestoso from Lance, “I’ll just take him outside.”

“Good idea,” Pidge agrees, moving away to pick up a few more upturned chairs.

Lance tosses a leash at Keith before turning away, and Keith grabs it before hooking it onto Apestoso’s collar. The two of them make their way from the café, Keith frowning at the dog.

“You got us in a lotta trouble, boy.” he mumbles.

Apestoso looks up at Keith innocently, seemingly unaware of the unrest he’s caused.

Keith sits down on the curb, letting the dog down. He keeps the leash firmly wrapped around his hand, sure to keep Apestoso closeby.

Keith sighs.

◌ ◍ ◌

“So… Apestoso got you roped into a job and then shit on the café floor?”

“Yes,” Lance says, somehow earnest.

Nyma reaches up and rubs at her forehead, “so you work here now?”

“Yes?” Lance repeats, his seriousness morphing into a sheepish smile.

Nyma sighs, but laughs in the same breath, taking Apestoso into her arms and scolding him playfully; cooing at him despite the trouble he’s gotten her boyfriend into.

Keith stares. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it. Her presence and appearance demands attention; Nyma is tall, taller than six feet and strutting on four-inch heels regardless of the fact. She’s dressed in long wide-leg pants that really only make her look taller. She shows off a strip of stomach - and the fact that her height makes it impossible to find a size small that isn’t too short - and has her honey-blonde hair piled into two long pigtails. Her pants have a tiny stain on the left leg, an inch or two above the hem. Her inner-corner highlight game is weak, in Keith’s opinion, and she has a light smattering of freckles near the corner of her left eye. Her hair is a little bit on the oily side and she’s got extremely doey eyes. Too doe-y for Keith’s tastes.

So, yeah, Keith doesn’t mean to, but he does stare.

And he judges; nitpicks, even though there’s nothing to really nitpick at.

But Nyma is _gorgeous,_ no matter how he tries to paint her.

How was Keith ever supposed to compete with _that?_

Keith loses his train of thought, his eyes meeting Lance’s when Lance turns to him and beckons, “come here!”

So Keith goes. Because, _yeah,_ he’s a little weak for Lance, even three years later.

“Keith, this is Nyma, my girlfriend. Nyma, Keith. My…” Lance looks to Keith, searching for a title befitting Keith.

Keith takes Nyma’s outstretched hand as he says, voice monotonous but polite and features schooled into a carefully neutral expression, “ex-boyfriend and prospective friend.”

Nyma laughs and shakes Keith’s hand. “You’re funny,” she remarks, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Keith replies. He’s surprised to find Nyma’s shake firm, and not at all gentle, like he’d been hoping - he can’t even hate the girl for being weak, as shallow as it is.

She’s better than Keith ever was. Ever could’ve been.

“Another employee?” Allura asks, approaching the three of them.

She smiles brightly as she shakes Nyma’s hand, but there’s clear tension between them.

“Nope,” Nyma says, a glance at her hand confirming she’s trying to win in strength against Allura, “just the girlfriend of one of them.”

“Ah,” Allura says, still wearing that over-the-top and obviously fake smile.

Keith glances over at Lance, and the two make eye contact, seemingly thinking the same thing: pretty girls are _scary._ The split-second solidarity between them makes Keith wonder if there really is a potential friendship there.

They part, both standing their ground with piercing eye contact that would make Keith want to shrink away if he was on the receiving end.

“Lance,” Allura says, though her eyes stay on Nyma, “if you’d finish filling out your papers, please.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lance nods, pressing up onto his toes to kiss Nyma’s cheek - an action that makes Keith want to bleach his eyes and rip his hair out.

“I’ll see you after work, then?” Nyma asks, shifting Apestoso in her arms.

“Mhm,” Lance says, “see you then.” he disappears after Allura, leaving Keith and Nyma alone.

“So all of you got dragged into it?” Nyma asks conversationally, turning to Keith.

“Yeah, except for Shiro - my brother. He’s already got a job.” Keith explains, jerking a thumb in Shiro’s general direction.

“I see,” Nyma acknowledges, then falls silent.

The quiet between them is heavy and awkward, so Keith scrambles for something to fill it, but the only thing that comes to mind seems beyond his jurisdiction.

So, like any logically-thinking twenty-one year-old, he blurts it out: “hey, you treat Lance right, okay?”

Nyma furrows her brow, turning to Keith. For a second, Keith thinks she’s going to chew him out right there and then, tell Keith that she knows everything he did and that he’s in no position to talk. But instead she nods earnestly and agrees, “of course.”

“You’ll never find anyone as good as him,” Keith continues, “he gives his all, so you… you should give yours, too.”

 _You can’t just half-ass it. Not when Lance refuses to,_ Keith thinks, remorseful of his own failures as a friend and as a boyfriend.

“I will,” Nyma says, offering a smile. A moment later, though, her expression turns curious, and she says, slowly, “if you don’t mind me asking… just… you said it yourself - Lance is wonderful. So then… Why’d you guys break up?”

Keith’s face must fall, because Nyma rushes to backtrack, “you don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry for asking. I shouldn’t’ve.”

“No, no,” Keith says, waving a hand in easy dismissal, “it’s okay. You have a right to know. I don’t know how much Lance wants you to know, or if he does at all, but basically… Shiro was in an accident and we took him back to Japan to recover. Lance and I got in a fight before I left and… never really spoke again after that. I fell out of touch with Pidge and Hunk and that sort of solidified it.”

The truth hangs heavily beneath the words, the arguments and breakups before the final nail in the coffin being Keith leaving to Japan, though it certainly wasn’t the only reason they didn’t stay together.

 _Nyma,_ Keith decides, _doesn’t need to know everything. At least not from me._

“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that,” Nyma says, “I didn’t really know everything when I met Lance, but I did know that whatever happened between you guys did shake him up. He… just know that he regrets whatever happened.”

“Thanks,” Keith shrugs, “that’s reassuring, I guess.”

Nyma offers a small smile, which Keith returns for a split second before turning away with a short good-bye. The admission that Lance had been hurt after the breakup doesn’t quite serve to make Keith feel better; having confirmed knowledge on causing pain to one of the most significant people in Keith’s life is far from comforting. 

“Ready for your training?” Coran asks, catching sight of Keith as he approaches the counter.

“Yeah,” Keith fibs; he’d really just prefer to go home and sit in the dark for a few hours.

Coran, a spritely older man with laugh lines, starts to prattle on about how Voltron works, and Keith is content to let his training drown out his emotions, at least for now.

◌ ◍ ◌

“Good work today,” Coran says, “with your help Voltron will be up and running in no time!”

“The pay is shit, though,” Pidge mumbles.

Lance lets out a small laugh at that, sure to keep it under his breath.

“So we’re free to go?” Hunk asks.

Allura nods, adding her own thanks.

Keith follows his friends out, half-heartedly waving over his shoulder. He’s about two steps from the doorway when he pauses, brow furrowing.

“Wait a second… what happened to Altea?” Keith blinks at the bright sign, looking around the little strip mall they’re in. Across the street from Voltron is the book store, and next to it the tiny boutique. He’s certain that Altea was here before. The shops have changed, more expensive brands moving into the well-populated area, but he’s sure this is where Altea was. Where their friend group had sat down and drank coffee at least once a week, pouring over notes for an upcoming test or gossiping over sweet drinks and pastries.

“Burned down,” Allura says, overhearing as she tugs on a coat and slides her keys into her pocket, “my father owned Altea. After he passed, I decided to build Voltron in its place.”

“Really?” Keith asked, awed.

Allura nods dutifully, “yes.”

“Allura,” Coran calls from his car, standing in the open door, “it seems we’re running a touch late.”

“Oh, dinner!” Allura says, bringing a hand to her forehead, “I’d forgotten! Let’s go, Coran. Goodbye, everyone!”

She rushes away, towards Coran’s car. The four of them call goodbyes, waving at her retreating form.

“So Voltron’s gone,” Keith says, falling into step beside Hunk.

“Yeah. Happened a few months after you left.”

“Can’t imagine there’s any symbolism there,” Keith says sarcastically, sharing a laugh with Hunk.

They fall quiet, watching Lance and Pidge play footsies, trying to nail each other’s feet with their own. It gets vicious as they reach the end of the street, Hunk having to intervene as Pidge runs at Lance, almost taking him to the ground before she’s clothes-lined by Hunk’s arm.

“I had him, Hunk!” Pidge cries, “I would’ve taught him a lesson!”

“And broken your arm, too,” Hunk snorts, bodily pushing Pidge ahead of him. She continues to protest, exclaiming that Hunk refuses to let short people have their place in the world, to which the giant just laughs.

“You got a ride?” Lance asks, turning to Keith.

“I’m just gonna walk,” Keith shrugs, once more trying not to be awkward as Lance turns his attention over.

“Can I tag along? Nyma’s driving past Shiro’s complex, anyways.”

“Yeah,” Keith nods, “‘course.”

“Lance, you coming with us?” Pidge asks, straightening her shirt.

“Nah, I’ll stick with Keith and get Nyma to pick me up.”

Hunk smiles approvingly, Pidge shooting a questioning look Keith’s way.

“Oookay,” she says, “we’re gonna go, then…”

The two groups bid each other a goodnight, waves and promises to see each other soon filling the night air before they’re splitting off into different directions.

“So,” Keith starts slowly, “how’re you?”

The question’s lame, but Lance takes it and runs anyways, always a good partner for conversation.

“I’m good! I’ve been looking for a job anyways so. Solved that problem,” he laughs, “what about you?”

“Tired but also glad I don’t have to job hunt. Thank you for letting your niece's dog run rampant.”

“Anytime,” Lance smirks, “Apestoso is always down for wreaking havoc.”

“I can tell,” Keith says, letting a small grin glance across his lips.

A silence stretches between them, surprisingly comfortable despite the tension beneath it. But Keith, never one to idle when he easily could to no consequence, breaks it.

“Are we gonna talk tonight?”

Lance looks over at Keith, studying him for a second before facing ahead again. Keith pretends not to notice the pleasant slope to Lance’s nose and the way the orange street lamps behind him only accentuate his features.

“It’s a really beautiful night,” Lance says, cryptic as he reaches above his head, arching his back to stretch.

It’s completely cliché and vaguely embarrassing, but Keith can’t help his eyes being drawn down to Lance’s hips, where the tiniest stretch of brown skin is revealed, name brand underwear elastic hugging tightly to a faintly defined torso. The edge of a small birthmark peeks out, barely visible.

Keith’s already seen it, though, so his eyes are back to Lance’s face before a second has even passed.

“Yeah…” Keith agrees, looking away, studying the ground now.

“I don’t want to ruin it,” Lance says.

Keith feels the weight of Lance’s gaze on his cheek, but refuses to look up, instead choosing to kick a stone little by little.

“I wouldn’t call it “ruining”,” Keith mumbles, just loud enough for Lance to hear.

“Knowing us, it’d end in a fight.”

Keith looks up, then, back at Lance. “Yeah.” he says, suspicion and diluted hurt in his tone.

“Look, Keith. I know you want an answer now. But I don’t know what to say. I haven’t thought any of this through. You… one minute you weren’t here, weren’t on social media or messaging any of us, and then suddenly you’re sitting in one of my best friend’s living room. And the next day we’re coworkers. In less than twenty-four hours. I haven’t even had a chance to wrap my head around everything. I don’t know what to say yet.”

Keith looks up, at the stars. Takes a deep breath and lets his gaze wander a little ways down, until he’s looking up at Shiro’s apartment complex. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“So you understand?” Lance asks, slowing enough that Keith has to turn and look at him.

Keith doesn’t understand. How can he have not been thinking about this for three years? Keith’s mind was bombarded with thoughts of reuniting with his friends from the second he left.

“I understand,” Keith nods. “Now c’mon.”

They fall quiet again, the tension between them simultaneously alleviated and worsened.

It’s only moments later that they’re at the entrance to the complex.

“I’ll wait with you,” Keith says, but Lance holds up a hand and shakes his head.

“No, sir. Nyma’s a minute away. You head up. Get some rest and say hi to Shiro for me.”

“You sure?” Keith asks slowly, tempted against his better judgement.

“Yeah, man. I’ll let you know when she’s here.” Lance smiles easily, and Keith almost forgets they’re not really friends right now.

“Do you have my number?”

Lance nods, “yep. I got it from Hunk this morning in case of emergencies.”

“Oh,” Keith says, “cool.”

“Yeah,” Lance says.

Keith studies Lance for a moment, Lance oblivious.

“...Goodnight, Lance.” he says slowly.

“Goodnight, Keith,” Lance replies, raising his hand in a wave.

A beat passes before Keith feels his eyes widen.

“Your nails,” he says dumbly, “they’re blue.”

“Oh,” Lance says, as if having forgotten, “yeah. I painted them last night.”

Keith, mouth no longer agape, smiles. He’s relieved. He’d feared in high school that Lance might stop expressing himself through nail polish and makeup and other physical means.

“It looks good,” Keith murmurs, voice going soft.

“Yeah?” Lance asks, face lighting up in a down-played sort of way, “you think so?”

“Yes.” Keith nods, “it suits you. I like it.”

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance says, gentle. “It means a lot.”

It’s more than the colour. It’s more that Lance just painting his nails. It’s him being comfortable enough with himself. It’s him rising above the taunts and bullying and painting his nails not to spite those that make fun of him for it but just because he _can._

“No problem,” Keith says.

A beat passes between them, and it’s as if there’s a monumental shift between them.

“Goodnight, Keith.”

“‘Night, Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaAAHH I'M SORRY THIS UPDATE TOOK OVER A MONTH  
> school has just been INSANE. Like,,, i have so little time and when I have free days/not a lot of homework, I just watch movies or youtube,,, y'ALL GRADE 11 IS HARD (also you don't get to complain if you have a spare/studyhall. we don't get spares/study hall (unless youre like... special or smth) until next year. or if all your classes are grade 11 level. I HAVE 3 GRADE 12 CLASSES AND YEAH IT'S MY FAULT AND 1 OF THEM IS TECHNICALLY GRADES 11 AND 12 CONJOINED BUT WHATEVER)  
> anyways im dying how are you  
> BUT HERE HAVE SOME ~BONDING~ AND APESTOSO IS SPANISH FOR STINKY  
> ps. thank you to those of you who are already committed to this story you are literally the reason this is getting posted now and not in december i love you and hope you are having a wonderful year thus far because you deSERVE IT SHISTER
> 
>  
> 
> also its not really proofread im lazy but i'll fix it someday i swear


	3. Chapter 3

“Keith!”

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith tosses his keys onto the little table by the door, kicking off his shoes.

“How was work?” Shiro asks, smiling pleasantly.

“It was fine.” Keith shrugs, his jacket next to be discarded as he makes his way into the kitchen, coming to stand by Shiro at the stove. “You’re in a good mood. What’s for dinner?”

“Ramen,” Shiro says sheepishly, “I forgot to go grocery shopping.”

“We went when we got back,” Keith says, “remember?”

“Yes,” Shiro nods, “but a tired old man is not the best at making rational decisions. I bought ramen and breakfast food.”

“Well, shit.” Keith pats Shiro’s shoulder before turning away, dropping onto the couch and pulling out his phone.

“You okay?” Shiro asks, raising an eyebrow at Keith, trying to keep his concern inconspicuous.

“Fine,” Keith mumbles, scrolling idly through instagram. He’d finally opened the app the previous night after a near three months off it, giving his handle to Pidge. Two follow notifications display themselves to Keith and clicks them, sliding through his follow requests.

There’s @pidgeon and @hunnnnnk. Both are accepted, joining Keith’s tiny, majorly Japanese, following of two hundred.

In truth, Keith isn’t feeling super great. Talking to Lance had been nice. Getting along had been nice. But something about Lance’s refusal to talk about their past, about the way he hadn’t even given thought to what he’d say to Keith in three years… it feels strangely heavy.

Keith’s phone buzzes, snapping his out of his thoughts. His lockscreen - his phone must’ve locked at some point - displays a new message notification, so he places his finger on the homebutton, waiting until his phone unlocks and he can read the notification.

_I’m with Nina now! Thanks for walking back with me :) - Lance_

And then,

_**Nyma exotic names are discriminated against on iMessage_

Keith snorts at the message, opening the message and typing out a reply.

_Lol glad you’re safe_

He stares at the text a minute, tapping his finger against his case.

Is that okay?

Too distant? Too close?

Keith shakes his head. He never thinks this hard about texts - didn’t even when he was fumbling with a crush on Lance and was flirting with him like a twelve-year old every other night.

He presses send and almost regrets it, but Shiro anounces dinner is ready, so he turns on Do Not Disturb and sets his phone on the coffee table.

“What flavour is it?” Keith asks, climbing onto a stool and taking an offered spoon from Shiro.

“I don’t know. Yellow?” Shiro asks, setting a bowl in front of Keith and one in front of himself.

“Yellow? Is that racist?”

“No, you-! Like the bag,” Shiro explains, holding up a ripped package.

“Good enough,” Keith shrugs. “How are we doing this?”

Shiro digs through a drawer before raising his hands. He holds up two forks in one hand, and in the other, two sets of chopsticks. “You choose.”

“Chopsticks. Forks are too hard.”

“That’s gay,” Shiro says, handing over bright blue chopsticks.

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Keith shrugs, grabbing the utensils from Shiro.

“You radical pansexual,” Shiro jokes, opting for his own set of chopsticks, his purple.

“What can I say,” Keith shrugs, “we’re superior.”

Shiro snorts, “maybe _some_ of you. Not you, though. You’re a disaster.”

“That meme is literally, like, three months old.” Keith interjects.

“What meme?” Shiro asks, blinking.

“Like… the table? On one axis it’s like… straight, bi, gay and the other is like… distinguised, functional, and disaster?” At Shiro’s blank stare, Keith sighs. “Never mind.”

They eat in silence for a moment before Shiro perks up, holding up his chopsticks in realization.

“What?” Keith asks, watching as Shiro swallows his mouthful, “what happened?”

“Your bike! It’s going to be here tomorrow.”

Keith sits up straight, eyes going wide. “No way!”

“Yes way. Now you won’t have to hitch rides.”

“Hell yeah,” Keith says, smiling.

His mood is infintely better.

◌ ◍ ◌

“Earth to Pidge,” Keith says, tapping the side of Pidge’s head with two knuckles.

“I’m awake…” Pidge mumbles, but continues dozing on her hand.

“What time did you go to bed?” Keith wonders, wiping down the counter with a rag. It’s clean, but he’s got nothing better to do.

“At a time appropriate for summer,” Pidge replies, finally lifting her head. She yawns, stretching. “Why’re we even here, anyways? No one’s gonna buy coffee this early on a Sunday in August.”

“Allura said the shift starts at five, so we’re here.” Keith shrugs.

“What time is it now?”

“Four past six,” Keith says, glancing down at his watch.

“How’d you know that?” Pidge asks, glancing over at him with glazed eyes.

“My watch?” Keith asks, “man, you’re slow when you’re sleepy.”

“But I thought you hate wearing watches,” Pidge asks, starting to wake up fully.

“I used to.” Keith shrugs.

“When’d you stop?” Pidge wonders, smiling as she sets her chin in her hand again, now attentive.

“About two years ago,” Keith says, “when I got this watch.”

Pidge lifts her head. “Why all of a sudden?”

Keith pauses. There was a point where he trusted Pidge with everything. Hell, she knows Keith’s enitre life story up until he left. And if she seems just as perceptive and understanding three years later, then what’s stopping him from telling her?

“It was my dad’s,” Keith says, his gaze falling to the watch, a simple thing with a brown leather strap.

“Oh,” Pidge says, standing up to her full height.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees softly.

“I’m so glad you have something to remember him by,” Pidge says, and then adds quickly, “something physical, I mean.”

“Me too,” Keith nods.

Pidge seems to pause before continuing. “…I feel bad asking this, but I have an unquenchable curiosity and you know this. Can I ask a possibily offensive question?”

Keith laughs, “sure.”

“When we were younger, you only talked about your dad when you were… well, depressed. And now, you seem so much more comfortable talking about him. What happened?” Pidge swipes Keith’s rag and starts wiping a spot on the surface of the coffee grinder.

“I, um… I got help. Lots of help. And I stopped feeling like what happened to my dad was best left unsaid. You know what it was like. People’d ask me what my dad did and I’d say “nothing”, just so I wouldn’t have to make them feel uncomfortable by saying “he’s dead”. I started to feel like it was something to be ashamed of, and I learned that it’s just something unfortunate and sad. And yeah, it completely _sucks,_ and my dad was a great guy who really deserved to live more than a lot of other people, but. He’s gone and I can’t really do anything to fix that. So.”

Keith blinks at the sudden moisture behind his eyes. He thought he was past crying over how unfair a card life had decided to chuck at him. Past being sad that he’d lost his father and moved on to being happy he knew him at all, because all his memories of him were wonderful.

Pidge, suddenly at Keith’s side, puts a hand on his arm and squeezes gently. “It’s nothing to be ashamed over. You have the most heroic dad. And fuck people, amiright? Let them be uncomfortable over their privellege.”

Keith smiles tightly, “ha. Yeah. Thanks, Pidge.”

“Anytime. But… I have another possibly invasive question.”

“Shoot,” Keith nods, taking the hairtie off his wrist and fiddling with it, just to have something to do.

“How’d you come into possesion of his watch?”

Keith stops twisting the hairtie, making eye contact with Pidge.

“Oh, shit, sorry, bad question. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, no,” Keith shakes his head, “it’s okay. It’s a good thing.”

“You sure?” Pidge asks.

Keith nods, “yeah. I met my mom.”

He watches the shock register on Pidge’s face, the way her jaw drops open.

“What?” she breathes, her hand returning to Keith’s arm.

“Yeah,” Keith says, laughing a little, “she looks like me but if I was a woman.”

“Keith,” Pidge says, “oh my God, I’m so happy for you.”

Pidge wraps Keith in a hug, squeezing. “Tell me all about it,” she says, leaning back far enough that her words come out clear.

“She ran into me. At work. Saw my nametag and asked me where I was from. She just… _knew._ She gave me her number because she had to go catch her flight - she was there on a business trip. She flew back out to Japan a week later, and she invited me to lunch. She explained everything and gave me the watch, and I’ve been talking with her since. She’s planning on coming down here sometime soon.”

“Oh, Keith,” Pidge says, hugging Keith again, “that’s just… that’s just so incredibly great. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Keith says, hugging back.

It feels good to tell Pidge about Krolia. It’s refreshing to get the story off his chest to someone other than Shiro. To have actual, tangible friends that he can share important things with. People who understand how and why it’s even important in the first place. Keith has friends in Japan - of course he does, after three years there - but none of them were close enough with him to know much about his childhood aside from his father dying and him being a foster child. They had to know. It wasn’t every day that a half Korean, half caucasian kid showed up and started speaking fluent Japanese.

Their hug breaks with a jingle from the door, a mother entering with a dozing child in her arms.

“Good morning,” Pidge greets, approaching the cash register, “what can I get you?”

The woman prattles off her order, something about skinny soy or something, and Keith gets to work, taking the cup from Pidge’s hands and making the drink as he’s been taught to. He finishes with a flourish, topping the cup off with whipped cream.

“Here you are,” Keith says, pulling a wrapped straw from the container and setting it atop the drink. The woman thanks Keith before grabbing the drink and straw, making an exit as her child starts to wake and mumble.

After that, the shop starts to pick up, people entering at regular intervals. Pidge turns on low volume café music at some point, and the there’s not much room for talking after that.

It’s easy to get lost in the rhythm of making coffee. Pidge mans the register for the most part, so Keith manages to do a few hours of just making coffee before Allura enters the shop with a grin.

“Keith, Pidge! How are things going?” She asks, pulling on an apron and stepping into their area.

“They’re great!” Pidge says, “you guys have a surprising amount of patrons for a Sunday morning,” she adds.

“It’s edging well into the afternoon, now,” Allura laughs, “your shifts are almost up.”

“No way,” Pidge says, disbelieving as she pours milk into a drink.

“Yes way,” Allura grins. “I’m here for the next shift. Keith, you’re taking one in a few hours, right?”

Keith nods, “yep.”

“You’re gonna burn yourself out,” Pidge chides.

“Gotta get my hundred hours done. Coran promised better pay after that.” Keith shrugs. “I’d rather do it now than during the semester.”

“True, true,” Pidge agrees, “but you do realize we have a few weeks, right? You could just work one shift a day.”

“I’m going for a full twelve hours today alone,” Keith explains, capping another order and calling it.

Jenny grabs her soy milk mocha a second later before taking it over to a table and sitting down.

“Besides,” Keith says, “i’ll just alternate the days I’m working. Twelve today, six tomorrow, so on so forth.”

“Just be careful,” Pidge insists.

“She’s right,” Allura agrees, “I’d much rather have functional employees than zombies.”

“Ha,” Keith laughs, making his way to the register, “don’t even worry about that. I’m known for being able to go four days without sleep before I start getting trippy.”

Keith starts to ring up their next customer, smiling when he hears Pidge say to Allura, “it’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

◌ ◍ ◌

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura says, waving. “You’re quite good at this.”

“I was a bartender for a week once,” Keith says, stepping from the backroom with his backpack, “this is nothing.”

Allura laughs out loud at that, a pleasant sound, before bidding Keith goodnight, mirth in her eyes.

“Night, Allura.”

Keith stretches as he pressed through the door, the summer night chill touching pleasantly on his face. Absently, Keith scans the parking lot, starting his walk home. There’s a beat-up Honda, and a nicer BMW that he guesses is Allura’s. And next to it, a gorgeous red sportbike. It reminds Keith of his own bike, still on it’s way from Japan.

A beat passes until Keith realizes the bike’s his. It’s got the little stripe of black across the gas tank, a custom paint job that he paid extra for.

Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, Keith approaches the bike before laying his hands on the smooth leather of the seat. He laughs, giddy.

A slip of paper peeks out from under the seat, so Keith eases it out and reads it, heart racing.

_Keith,_

_Check the front pocket of your bag._

Keith whips his bag around, hands shaking. With effort that really shouldn’t be as much as it is, he tugs out his keys, and grips them in his hands. “Yes,” he breathes.

Another note dangles off the keychain:

_You can drive without a helmet, just this once._

_Hope this is a good surprise :)_

_Shiro._

It’s exhilerating to plug the keys into the ignition and feel the bike come to life beneath him. It roars in protest as Keith revs a few times, but purrs when idling.

“Oh hell yeah,” Keith grins, reversing out of his spot.

He drives a little too fast, takes turns way tighter than he should, and hollers like no tomorrow all the way home.

The drive isn’t long enough, so he loops around, trying to get as much use out of his bike as possible in one go. It’s been weeks since he’s driven it, and his fingers have been itching to get on the bike again.

He pulls into the parking lot of the complex and slots his bike cleanly near Shiro’s car, running a hand through his hair. He huffs in happiness, feeling like he’s run a mile.

Keith bounces on the balls of his feet as he heads up to Shiro’s apartment, bites his lip in barely contained excitement. He fumbles with the door lock, but eventually gets into Shiro’s apartment.

“Shiro!” Keith yells, running full force at his brother.

“Shit, no, Keith don’t run at me!” Shiro cries, but a second later he’s been tackled by Keith, hugged tightly around the middle.

“You liked your surprise?” Shiro asks, grinning.

“You’re the best brother ever.” Keith says, “thank you so much, Shiro.”

“I didn’t _do_ anything…” Shiro says, accepting Keith’s hand to get to his feet.

“You’re right,” Keith nods, “you did everything.”

Shiro smiles, ruffling Keith’s hair as he passes by. “You’re such a sap. C’mon, help me make green ramen.”

“Green?” Keith asks, following.

“Yes, green.”

“So you had time to pick up multiple kinds of ramen but not enough to buy actual food?”

“I love you, but please no.”

Keith laughs, poking more fun at Shiro as he dumps noodles and vegetable seasoning into a pot of boiling water.

◌ ◍ ◌

Keith tugs on a sweatshirt, kicking at a box. “Don’t forget this one,” he calls to Shiro, turning around and grabbing a different box.

“You got it,” Shiro affirms, coming over to grab said box.

“So what’s the plan here?” Keith inquires, following Shiro into the elevator.

“Let’s load up the car, then we’ll hit the grocery store and grab stuff for your apartment.”

“And when are you gonna get groceries for yourself?” Keith asks, holding the front doors of the building open with a foot for Shiro.

“I’ll get them on the way back so they don’t go bad.”

“Okay,” Keith nods, “I’ll come back with you and grab my bike, then.”

“Good idea,” Shiro nods, setting the box into the trunk of his car. Keith sticks his own bin in after it, rounding the car.

“Who’s driving?” he wonders, reaching up to tie his hair into a ponytail. Where he’d hated doing it in highschool, Keith had come to embrace having his hair up since his time in Japan, finding it not only kept his hair out of his face, but also allowed him an extra few days between washes.

And it also draws the attention of hot people in bars, so. Added bonus.

But today it’s just because the heat is too much.

Ponytails are pretty versatile.

“I’ll drive,” Shiro says, “I feel like it today.”

“Okay,” Keith says, making his way to the passenger door, “cool.”

He likes when Shiro wants to drive. It means he’s having a good day mentally, and Keith would give anything for Shiro to have every day be a good mental day.

They chat about the upcoming school year and listen to some bad pop music on their way to the store, crack a few jokes that only they get, and talk about how Keith sort of wants a bubble tea place to open up nearby so that he can use Skip the Dishes every other night.

It’s not long before they’re grabbing neccessities, throwing actual foods into their cart - though ramen does, in fact, find its place in Keith’s shopping list.

“Produce is next,” Shiro says, “and then we’re done.”

Keith nods idly, pushing the cart towards an apple stand. “Gala apples or regular?” he wonders, coming to a stop.

Shiro furrows his brow. “What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know,” Keith says, “you’re the adult.”

“Excuse you,” Shiro interjects, “you’re of legal drinking age. Which basically means you’re trusted to make good decisions.”

“Gala it is,” Keith says, grabbing a bag.

“Shit,” Shiro curses suddenly, dropping into a squat.

Panic erupts in Keith’s chest and he kneels by Shiro.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“It’s not- I’m fine,” Shiro says.

“Then why are you down here?”

“Look over there,” Shiro gestures, “by the bananas.”

Keith furrows his brow but stands, looking over to the banana stand. At first he sees nothing of note, but then a face turns around, setting a bunch of bananas in his basket and adjusting his glasses a second later.

Keith rolls his eyes, “Shiro, you’re better than this. Go and talk to him!”

“I can’t,” Shiro argues, shaking his head, “that’s not how this works.”

“Wha- _I_ talked to _my_ ex-boyfriend! And he hates me!”

“Keith, no,” Shiro says, “I can’t.”

“That’s fine,” Keith says, “because I can.”

“Oh dear lord-”

“Adam!” Keith waves his arm, watching as Adam makes eye contact and recognition comes to his face.

“Keith!” he calls, smiling, “hey!”

 

“How’ve you been?” Keith asks, accepting a hug from Adam.

“You know, same old. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You look so… adult-y now!” Adam sets his basket down, gripping Keith’s shoulders and squeezing.

“I’m so sorry for being out of touch. It’s just… things got so hard after what happened. I deleted all my social media and I lost all my contacts so I all I have are my parents and coworkers. I have numbers somewhere in a phonebook but I just haven’t made the time to find it. I’m so sorry, Keith. I should’ve been there for you,” Adam finishes.

“Hey, don’t even mention it. You’re a person too. I should’ve made a bigger effort. But we can’t really go back. Don’t even worry about it.”

Adam smiles, but then pauses, hesistant.

“So… what happened to Ta… what happened to him?” Adam asks slowly, choking over the name.

Keith smirks, “why don’t you just ask him?”

Behind him, Shiro stands, and a glance confirms he’s blushing nervously.

“H-hey,” Shiro greets, raising a hand in an awkward wave.

Adam however, stares at Shiro with surprise.

“Shiro?” he asks, and it’s a second later when tears are on his cheeks.

Shiro forgets his awkwardness then, stepping forward to gather Adam in a hug. Keith smiles, stepping back. He’d wondered if he’s ever get to see them together again. The two of them had been so happy together - Shiro was only a few weeks from proposing when the accident had happened.

“I just… I can’t believe it’s really you,” Adam breathes, his hands finding Shiro’s face.

“I’m here,” Shiro says, a laugh spilling from his smile, “I’m here now.”

Adam laughs, too, relief clear on his face. “I’m so happy.”

“Me too,” Shiro says, “I missed you so much.”

Adams laughs again, pressing his face into Shiro’s shoulder.

There’s a whispered conversation between the two of them that Keith politely doesn’t listen in on, and then they part, so clearly in-love, despite the years between them.

“Hey, Adam,” Keith says, drawing Adam’s attention, “I just got my apartment confirmed today, so Shiro and I are going to head over. You wanna tag along?”

“I- if you don’t mind, yeah.” Adam nods, “of course.”

“Sweet,” Keith says, “just gotta pay and we’ll be on our way.”

Keith pushes ahead of Shiro and Adam, letting them walk together. There’s a lot they’ve missed out on, and Keith isn’t going to third-wheel on that. He’s instead going to pay for his groceries and politely wait for his brother. And when he gets in the car, _then_ he’ll have his chance to interject. But for now, it’s time for Shiro and Adam to talk and figure things out for themselves.

Shiro pays for Adam’s groceries, Keith finds. And Adam protests at first, but he doesn’t say much else on the matter, happy that he even has Shiro to pay for his groceries before can.

In the car, Keith situates himself in the backseat before Adam can interject, sticking himself in the middle seat like he used to in highschool, a teen who pretended he wasn’t over the moon to see his two favourite adults.

They catch up, Keith going on about the last three years and glazing over the bad parts - the hookups, the drunk nights, the breakdowns. Adam listens intently until Shiro asks what he’s been up to.

“Just been at Arus. I’ve done literally nothing else. Just work, eat, and sleep. I visit my family every few weekends but that’s about it.” Adam sighs.

“No dates or boyfriends or friends?” Keith asks, surprised.

“I went on a single date but… No one’d ever match up to Shiro. And it felt… wrong. I had no idea what happened to Shiro, and yet, I’d gone on a date. Since he’s alive, thank _God,_ I would’ve wanted to know where we are as a couple.”

“Speaking of which…” Keith trails off, glancing over at Shiro.

“That’s… to be discussed,” Shiro says, glancing over at Adam, who smiles.

“Anyways, though,” Shiro says, “we’re here.”

The three of them manage to get everything up in only a few trips, stocking the fridge and setting boxes down.

The ride back to Shiro’s apartment is full of good conversation, Adam reaching over to touch Shiro or Keith at random points, as though making sure they’re really there.

“Thanks for the ride, Shiro.” Keith says, clambering out of the car.

He hugs Shiro before Adam, and then he says good-bye and climbs onto his bike, revving to catch Adam’s attention before full-throttling out of the parking lot for good measure.

He takes it reasonably all the way to his apartment, not going too fast. He’s had his fun on the bike. It’s a near ten-minute drive from Shiro’s apartment, Keith notes, pulling into the parking garage and locking up his bike until he has to go for work.

Returning to the apartment and lounging seems sort of lonely, so Keith shoves his keys into his pocket and decides to go for a walk, mulling over the day’s event. Already, it’s been one of the best to date. His apartment was confirmed for him to move into, and he’d reunited with Adam, one of Keith’s biggest mentors.

It feels too good to be true, but Keith feels his heart lift with the knowledge that Shiro has been given back the love of his life.

Adam and Shiro. Shiro and Adam.

They’d been an unstoppable couple.

Keith just hopes they’ll be able to work things out between themselves.

It’s nearly forty minutes later when Keith realizes he’s walked all the way to Altea, and in time for his shift, too.

Sighing, Keith makes his way to the café. He’ll just have to ask Shiro for a ride later.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance calls, behind the counter, “you’ve arrived just in time for the rush.”

Keith hurries to toss his things in of the cubbies allocated to the four of them, tugging on an apron and pulling his hair loose so he doesn’t get a headache from the combined noise of the café and the ever-present tug of his hair being held back.

Keith takes a single deep breath to steady himself, and then gets to work, making the drinks that are already on cups so they can get passed their backlog. They work in silence like this, Lance writing down drinks on cups and helping Keith keep up every few orders.

They don’t talk, which is completely unlike with Allura and Pidge the previous day.

It’s so quiet between them that Keith honest-to-God starts when Lance calls out an order to him and hands him a cup.

Once more, and the two of them suddenly have a rhythm, smoothly moving from register to making the drinks and back. The after-lunch rush clears out quickly, and they have a few minutes to breathe before kids start showing up, out of summer school at three o’clock.

“We make a good team,” Lance says at some point, not quite to Keith but not quite to himself.

Keith just smiles and keeps making orders.

◌ ◍ ◌

Keith groans, staring at his phone.

“What’s the matter?” Lance asks, grabbing his jacket.

“Shiro’s gonna pick me up in an hour.” Keith explains, “and I am very impatient.”

“I can give you a ride,” Lance says, “you’re not far.”

“I moved into my apartment today,” Keith says.

“Just feed me directions,” Lance suggests.

“It’s fine, man, really. Shiro’s coming.” Keith tries.

“Nope,” Lance grabs Keith’s bag and walks from the backroom, waving bye to Allura as he exits the shop.

Keith calls his own good-bye, chasing after Lance, who’s already in his car and setting Keith’s bag onto the passenger seat. He smiles innoccently at Keith.

Keith sighs again, exasperated, but gets into the car with Lance.

“Thanks for the ride,” Keith says, “really.”

“Hey, my pleasure.” Lance replies, backing out of his spot and nodding as Keith gives his address and some general directions.

“I live close. Like… ten, eleven blocks?”

“Really? Cool.” Keith says.

“Yeah,” Lance nods.

A beat passes before Lance continues, cutting the awkward silence. “So how’s Shiro?”

“He’s good,” Keith says, “we ran into Adam today, so… he seems really good.”

“Adam… Adam was Shiro’s boyfriend, right?” Lance asks.

“Yeah,” Keith nods, remembering Adam always offering nothing more than a polite greeting when Lance came over. Adam had feared being overbearing when Keith had friends over, and Lance had thought that Adam hated him.

“That’s good,” Lance murmurs, “are they getting back together?”

“I don’t know yet,” Keith says, “but I hope so. They made each other really happy.”

Keith wonders if Lance is also pretending to completely forget that they were boyfriends before, too.

“Yeah. Shiro always seemed a lot happier with Adam around.” Lance grins.

“You’re right,” Keith mumbles, catching sight of his apartment building.

“This is it, right?” Lance asks, slowing to a stop.

“Yep,” Keith nods, “thanks for the ride, Lance.”

“My pleasure, man.” Lance smiles.

“Goodnight, Lance.” Keith says, leaning into the car after letting himself out.

“Goodnight, Keith. I’ll see you around.”

Keith smiles, shutting his door and stepping away from the car. He raises his hand in a wave as Lance pulls away, but doesn’t wait long before turning and making his way to his apartment.

He twiddles his thumbs on the way up, taps his toes anxiously. After an elevator ride that seems agonizingly slow without Adam or Shiro by his side, Keith makes his way to his apartment door and turns the lock.

He very nearly slams the door shut, but catches himself at the last minute, letting the door click shut. The sounds echoes through Keith’s dark apartment, and he presses his back to the door, taking a deep breath.

He’s confused.

Where does he stand with Lance? Why is Lance being so cryptic and avoiding the subject? Why isn’t Keith making a bigger effort to fix it?

Keith sinks to the floor, dropping his head in his hands.

He’s so very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOW another chapter literally a day later??? I'm??? no more writers block yaY! but also this is a huge ass apology for not positing for a month and 13 days.
> 
> also i really wanted to write some of the stuff in the chapter.
> 
> Adam lives because Shiro honestly deserves a happy ending. So very much. I apologize to the other character who dies here but lives in canon (thus far at least). You are an excellent character and I really like you but you've been choPPED
> 
> AND YES I MADE KEITH PAN DEAL WITH IT THERE'S NOT ENOUGH PAN REPRESENTATION
> 
> thank you so so much for reading!!!
> 
> aussi/tambien/also this chapter isn't proofread either or even properly read through yet :0

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for.... literally almost a year. It means a lot to me that I was able to finish it up now, and it's really important for me to get it up before I start school this year. Updates will likely be slow because I'm starting my junior year and I really need to focus on studies. I also only want to post chapters that I'm happy with, proofread and as well-flowing as possible.  
> Welcome to my first fully-planned multichapter fic!  
> The rating MAY change but I'm already telling you there'll be no smut :0  
> (can anyone guess where the title's from? I dont know how i feel about it but alas i'm trying very hard to get everything out before going to bed for school jsj i nEED THIS POSTED BEFORE I START SCHOOL)


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